The other day I had a particularly bad day. The peak of it resulted in my house key breaking off in the back door, so Parker and I were locked out. I had just gone grocery shopping, so I had $100 worth of food in the process of going bad. I tried calling Tim, who was obliviously sleeping in our room (he is working nights now), but his phone was off. I tried his work cell. It was charging in the living room.
I did have a key to the building's main front door, and since the front door is close to our bedroom, I figured I could bang on that until I woke Tim up...hopefully before all the perishables perished. So I had to put Parker back in his car seat (since I didn't have a gate key on this set of keys) and drive the alley to the main road to get to the front street.
Parker was in dire need of a nap, so he is SCREAMING his face off...like he is the one having the bad day. I get Parker out of the car and we climb the stairs and I start pounding on the front door. After both my knuckles were red, swollen, and feeling broken, I realized I had a can of garbanzo beans in the grocery bag I brought with me up the stairs. So I started pounding with that.
After a while, Tim woke up, but not before a huge area of paint had chipped off the front door from me pounding at it with the can.
Beating the hell out of the door felt good. So good that I still don't feel bad about the paint.
Anyway, that was 2 days ago. I haven't had a chance to have a key copied, so we have been parking out front on the street and leaving our front door unlocked (since our building is locked and we know and trust our 2 neighbors).
Today Parker and I got back from Target and he was napping, so I decided to go into our bedroom to get toilet paper for the bathroom in the hallway. It was locked.
Now why would Tim lock the bedroom door???
The only reason I could think of was one that I didn't want to walk in on, or disturb, for that matter. So I waited 20 minutes.
Door still locked.
Half hour goes by.
Okay, I'm no expert on men matters, but how long does it really take? I mean, it's not like you need to light candles, put on music, or set a mood...right?
And aren't you kind of an expert by now? You're not 14 years old...
At 45 minutes I had to poop so bad that I decided to knock on the door. The cat's out of the bag....or should have been by now. But I had to use light, quiet knocking so as to avoid waking Parker up.
The irony of the situation is absurd, because...
wait for it...
the actual reason the door was locked?
"So no one would steal me while I was sleeping and the front door was unlocked."
Are you serious? Do I really believe this?
Coming from my husband...yes. Yes I do believe it.
I haven't told Tim I waited 45 minutes, until I nearly pooped my pants, thinking he was in the bathroom doing something else. He will know the truth when he reads this. And I hope I get some serious "awesome wife" points for it.